


Thinninglocks and the Three Blairs

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a silly bedtime story....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinninglocks and the Three Blairs

## Thinninglocks and the Three Blairs

by Fishgoat

Author's webpage: <http://www.gatewest.net/~dem/fgslash/warn.html>

Author's disclaimer: PetFly Productions own these guys. I'll give them back, honest!

* * *

Once upon a time, in a city far, far away, there lived a heroic but stoic cop named Thinninglocks. He was a tall, buff man with a piercing gaze and specially augmented senses which helped him to smell out trouble from under the pile of week-old laundry that was the city of Cascade. He was The Sentinel Of The Great City. 

Thinninglocks had a faithful companion, Blair, who was himself possessed of many talents, such as Obfuscation, Schmoozing, and Keeping The Sentinel From Zoning Off The Deep End. He also had a talent for doing numerous things that caused said Sentinel to pull his hair out (hence the name Thinninglocks), and even indulged in the occasional shapeshift, as we shall see.... 

On this particular day, our hero had had a particularly rough shift, and he was bone-achingly weary. Even his eyelashes were begging for comp time as he dragged his sorry ass up the stairs to his Castle of Fortitude, aka apartment #307. The elevator, alas, was refusing to work for him again. 

As he inserted the key into the lock, cursing the evil elevator all the while, his super smell kicked in and told him that Something Was Up. He sniffed, He snorted. He sneezed. He wriggled his nose and clicked his heels three times. Still, he couldn't quite place the unfamiliar tang, mixed in as it was among the other smells of the hallway. With a sigh he opened the door. 

The mystery scent nearly knocked him over as he entered, but the newfound pungency revealed the source. 

Varnish. 

Why the hell did his apartment smell like varnish? 

He looked around, his super sight working overtime. It took 2.3 nanoseconds to notice the three new objects sitting in his living room. 

What the...? 

His big, comfy couch was gone. 

In its place were three chairs: a Louis XIV antique chair, an orange and lime green paisley bean bag chair, and a La-Z-Man leather recliner, tastefully dyed a deep burgundy to match the dark green walls. 

Thnninglocks frowned. He grimaced. He scratched his head with the thinning hair (hence the name). He was positively flummoxed. 

Just then, Anthro!Blair bounced out of his room, curls flying, beaming at his Sentinel. 

"Hi, Jim!" 

[It should be noted that Anthro!Blair always called Thinninglocks 'Jim', since said cop was a tad sensitive about his lack of a flowing mane, and after all, Anthro!Blair really, really didn't want to get his ass kicked.] 

"Sandburg..." 

[It should also be noted that Thinninglocks usually called Anthro!Blair 'Sandburg'...well, when he wasn't calling him 'Chief' or 'Blair' or 'Kemo Sabe' or 'dweeb' or 'dorkface' or 'hairball'....] 

"Sandburg," he asked pointedly, "Where is my couch?" 

"Oh, well, actually it's in my room." 

"What?" 

"Oh, hey, it's cool, man. I'll put it back tomorrow. You see I was working on my latest presentation, 'The Art and Function of Chairs in European-based Societies' and I needed some examples of chairs from various periods." He scooted over to the French antique. "This is a Louis XIV occasional chair from about 1672, trimmed in walnut and hand embroidered in the St. Cyr style using pastel colours and arabesque designs interwoven with stylized flowers..." Anthro!Blair paused for breath. "Well, actually it's a replica made from a kit I bought at Cascade Hardware since the original would have cost me thousands of dollars which I KNOW neither of us has, and..." 

"Varnish?" asked Thinninglocks, dizzy with Too Much Information and cheap varnish fumes. 

"Oh, hey man, you could smell that? Oh duh, of course you could. Yeah, I varnished it myself." Anthro!Blair indicated the chair. "Have a seat, Jim." 

"Sandburg, the varnish isn't dry yet." 

"Hmm? Oh..." Anthro!Blair touched the arm tentatively. "Shit, it's still tacky." He brightened. "But, hey, you could try the next one," he said, pointing at the beanbag chair. 

Thinninglocks made a disbelieving grunt at the day-glo monstrosity in front of him. This chair was obviously the tacky one. He lowered his incredible bulk into the screaming marshmallow thing, shifting uncomfortably. At least now he didn't have to look at it. 

"Chief, did Naomi give you this... _this_?" 

Anthro!Blair snorted. "Are you kidding?? Her taste isn't nearly this good." His answer was a little distracted, as he was suddenly very interested in the way the soft chair forced the man to sit with legs akimbo. 

"Oh, good Lord..." Thinninglocks groaned, not wanting to hear anymore about his roommate's mother. He squirmed and wriggled in the chair (much to the delight of Anthro!Blair), trying unsuccessfully to get settled. Giving up, he moved to stand. 

"Uh...Chief? I can't get up." 

Anthro!Blair wisely refrained from making a Viagra snark, and instead rolled his eyes and extended his hand. With much effort and bitching he managed to pull his Sentinel up out of the Tar Pit of the furniture world. 

"I need a beer," Thinninglocks muttered heroically, shuffling his way to the kitchen. 

"You're welcome," groused his roommate, disappearing in a puff of smoke and pixie dust. 

Reaching into the fridge, Thinninglocks commandeered a refreshing brew, then closed the door. He took a stalwart swig, then turned to speak to Anthro!Blair... only to discover he was already gone. 

Curious, he listened with his super hearing, smelled with his super smell, but he could sense no trace of his guide. It was as if he'd disappeared into thin air (which he had). 

Thinninglocks shrugged. Ah, he probably went to the store or something, he grunted to himself in a Sentinel kind of way. He'll be back. 

Entering the living room, he eyed the last remaining seat, the recliner. It looked comfortable enough, and the leather smelled good. Perhaps, just a short trial relaxation session wouldn't be a problem. 

Thinninglocks gingerly sat down onto the chair (in case it had been booby trapped). He relaxed into the cushions and let out a valiant sigh. He smoothed his powerful hands against the arms, enjoying the sensation of leather on skin. 

Leather. Skin. Thinninglocks smiled. Now there's a fantasy worthy of a Sentinel. 

Feeling content, he pulled the lever to recline the chair. It didn't move. Frowning, he pulled harder, all to no avail. He tried wiggling. He tried pleading. Finally he pulled with all his Sentinel might. 

It broke off in his hand. 

"Frack!!" he shouted, flinging the offending piece of hardware through the open doors and off the balcony. He stormed back toward the kitchen to get another beer, ignoring the yells of pain coming from the street. Goddam stupid chair, he grumbled, I was actually starting to relax. 

He was moving so fast that he didn't notice the figure he passed. He was halfway to the fridge when he halted abruptly and slowly turned around. 

Floating about a hand's width above the kitchen table was ShamanGuide!Blair, sitting in a full lotus with his eyes closed. He seemed to be humming a perky Shaman song as he floated. Incense and candles added another layer of otherworldliness to the scene. 

"Shit," Thinninglocks thought vehemently, dazed, "I'm back in the Sandburg Zone." He blinked his eyes several times, but his guide still remained floating impossibly in the air. 

ShamanGuide!Blair opened his eyes and smiled benevolently at the Sentinel. "Hey, Jim, I'm glad you're here. I have another test for you." 

It took a couple of seconds for the words to register, confounded as he was by the spectacle of a floating man in his kitchen. "Wha...a test?" he muttered, working that Great Brain to its maximum and beyond. He was still confused. 

Seeing his friend struggling vainly with the concept of levitation, ShamanGuide!Blair took pity on him and slowly lowered himself, unfolded his legs and stepped onto the floor. Thinninglocks pulled himself out of his daze and looked at his guide, waiting. 

With much relish (and other assorted condiments) ShamanGuide!Blair waved his hands at the table. A number of bowls appeared out of nowhere. Or the Sandburg Zone. Whichever. Thinninglocks was having a hard time keeping his brains from leaking out his ears. 

"Okay, Jim, this evening's test will concentrate on taste. I want you to identify the flavours that I added to each of these three bowls of oatmeal. Keep in mind that there is less than a drop of flavouring in each bowl." He fed Thinninglocks a spoonful of oatmeal. "This is the control oatmeal. Nothing's been added to this. Alright?" 

Thinninglocks shrugged, nodded, then picked up the first bowl. He cautiously sniffed it, still a little nervous from all the surrounding weirdness. ShamanGuide!Blair tried to stop him. 

"Ah, ah, ah, we're testing taste here, not smell. Focus on your taste." 

He was too slow, however, as Thinninglocks had already identified the flavouring. 

"Dammit, Sandburg, you know how much I hate that algae stuff!!" 

"Tough. Stop screwing up my test. Do the next one, and no smelling it beforehand!" 

Listening to his guide's commanding, velvety voice, Thinninglocks did as he was told. He sighed, picked up the spoon, and brought a sample to his mouth. 

He tasted. He licked. He swirled the oatmeal around in his mouth. His super sensitive taste buds started doing a spirited samba as he recognised the forbidden flavours that his guide had banished from the loft during the Sandburgian Inquisition. 

Cream. Real cream. From a _cow_. And (he was sure of it) whole egg. And...fantastically... real butter!! 

The flavours were almost too much. Thinninglocks savoured the creamy textures and the rich tastes, breaking them down to each of their component molecules, sorting, relishing.... 

Words interrupted his gustatory nirvana. "Jim! Jim! Listen to my voice, man. Come back." Thinninglocks opened his eyes, looking for all the world like some blissed-out junkie. He shook himself, noticing suddenly the thick rope of drool running down his chin and onto his shirt. Grinning stupidly, he grabbed the cloth ShamanGuide!Blair was holding out to him. 

"Oh, man, I told you too much animal fat would be bad for you," he fussed, glaring at the Sentinel when he realised he was being ignored. Sighing, he pried the bowl out of Thinninglocks' fingers and dumped the contents down the sink. The noise of the running water woke the older man out of his zone. 

"Ah, geez, Sandburg, did you have to dump it?" he pouted, as he wistfully eyed the glutinous ambrosia spiraling down the drain. 

"'Fraid so, Jim. That was some major zone-out. So, were you able to discern the ingredients?" 

Thinninglocks' face lit up, getting high on the memory. "Butter. Eggs. Cream. Sooooo goooooood...." 

ShamanGuide!Blair quickly splashed some cold water onto his face, snapping him out of his memory. He growled at the shaman, who merely smirked and offered him the last bowl. Thinninglocks warily tasted it. 

Traces of fruity goodness teased his senses. "Hmm...peaches...blueberries...apple...um...pear? No...mango!" 

ShamanGuide!Blair clapped his hands with glee as his Sentinel passed yet another one of his tests. He took the bowl from Thinninglocks' hands and advised him to get washed up: he still had quite the mess of oatmeal and drool down the front of his shirt. Cursing softly he did as his Shaman bade him, oblivious to the way said Shaman's gaze was transfixed to Thinninglocks' tasty rear. 

After a quick shower he emerged, wrapped merely in a damp towel. To his surprise ShamanGuide!Blair had disappeared. Shaking his head at the bevy of disappearing guides, he strode up the stairs to his room, slowing as he heard with his super hearing the soft breath of his roommate. Coming from _his_ bed. 

What the hell??? 

Fearful, and alarmed, he rushed up to the bed in question, for his roommate never, never entered Thinninglocks' bedroom without a Very Good Reason (like escaping from terrorists or space aliens or rabid slashfen). Yes, there, for all the world to see, was a familiar figure sleeping in Thinninglocks' bed, but looking very comfortable and not at all distressed or injured. Thinninglocks' mood became much less pleasant. The little shit had taken over his bed! Without even asking! 

Annoyed, he whipped the covers off...only to drop them from nerveless hands, mouth gaping wide at the unexpected sight. 

Before him lay such a vision of loveliness, a vision that had heretofore been hinted at only in dreams and lurid fantasies. Before him, spread out in all his glory, lay the wondrous, the luscious, the near mythical, the multiply-orgasmic... 

Nekkid!Blair! 

Thinninglocks couldn't believe his eyes. He drank in the view of the luxurious and ubiquitous hair with his super eyesight. He inhaled the young man's essence with his super smell. He reveled in the sound of his beloved heart beat. He hoped and prayed that this time, _this_ Blair would not disappear. 

Not wanting to neglect taste and touch, he moved forward to satisfy his tactile hunger, only to have Nekkid!Blair awaken. Blue eyes shone like beacons of lurve, mouth curving into the slowest, sexiest, most edible smile he'd received in aeons. 

Stretching languorously, Nekkid!Blair slowly stroked his throbbing member with a fingertip and whispered, "Come here." 

Thinninglocks pounced, towel flying. He landed on top of his love with a manly bounce and, kissing him robustly, poured every bit of love and lust and longing and saliva he possessed into his new paramour. 

"Oh, yeah," thought Thinninglocks, even as they passionately rolled together and fell to the floor with a thundering crash, "This Blair is just right!" 

**[END]**

[Mar/01] 


End file.
